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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227340">Sowing the seed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangmans_Radio/pseuds/Hangmans_Radio'>Hangmans_Radio</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Victorian Gardens AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>19th Century, Alternate Universe, Fantasizing, Gerard is the sexy gardener we all dream of, Grant is just really thirsty guys, I don't know the date guys, Kinda, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, This title sounds like an innuendo, and I am okay with that, and don't that make a change, think Mark Darcy if Mark Darcy was bald and had a thing for men with soil on their foreheads, what else am I supposed to do with a sunday afternoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:21:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangmans_Radio/pseuds/Hangmans_Radio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a quick saucy one-shot to while away an afternoon.</p><p>When Grant's father dies he returns to the family estate to oversee the running of the household. There he meets the new gardener, Gerard, and finds himself immediately besotted.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grant Morrison/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Victorian Gardens AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sowing the seed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rylescoe/gifts">Rylescoe</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Everybody can go ahead and blame Rylescoe for once again putting an idea in my head and ruining all chances of me getting any real work done (love you darling). </p><p>This fun little PWP came entirely from this prompt on Ry's Twitter - Y'know that trope that's like "Person A can't help but think about Person B when they masturbate and they feel guilty but they can't help it"? Why is Person A never Grant?</p><p>I'm pretty sure the 19th century gardener idea came from Ry too, but at this point I can't keep track. All I know is, it works! And is going to make my next National Trust visit much more interesting. </p><p>
  <b>DISCLAIMER: This fic was written before Grant's pronoun change and will not be edited. If this offends you, please hit the back button.</b>
</p><p>I'm liking this AU so much that I may return to it in the future, but I realise I say this about a lot of things I still haven't come back around to so... who knows. But the hope is alive, friends! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good evening sir, welcome back.” The head housekeeper greeted Grant at the door, accompanied by two younger members of staff who rushed to help remove his coat and boots. </p><p>“Mrs Jones, I thought I said in my letter that it wasn’t necessary for you to wait up for me.” Grant pulled a face, but allowed the servants to fuss over him. </p><p>“Nonsense.” Mrs Jones quirked an eyebrow at Grant, daring him to argue with her as she said, “I’ve never allowed a master of this house to return to a dark, empty hall and I’ll be dead before I allow it now.” She made a motion with her hand at the two young girls who bowed and rushed away, clutching one of Grant’s boots each. </p><p>“Your boots will be clean and ready for you by morning.” Mrs Jones assured him, her face softening into a smile now they were alone. “There’s supper for you in the kitchen as well, would you like me to have it brought to your room?” </p><p>Before Grant could answer, Mrs Jones was leaning in to kiss his cheek gently. She pulled back and cupped his jaw between both of her hands and sighed. “You’ve aged.” She said accusingly, looking him up and down. “You look more and more like your father every time I see you.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Grant rolled his eyes and smiled, touching the old housekeepers hands and squeezing them gently as he pulled them down from his face. Mrs Jones had always been more like family to him than staff; in many ways she had been more of a mother to him than his own mother had been. She had bathed him and dressed him as a child, made sure he ate his vegetables and mended his clothes when he’d come tearing through the house after spending long days outside. His parents, on the other hand, had done what all Scottish aristocrats did, and filled their days with rubbing shoulders with important people, and their evenings with state dinners and grand balls.</p><p>Now that he was master of the house, Grant supposed that would be his job too. He could think of nothing he wanted less. </p><p>“The estate is looking healthy.” He sighed as they set across the entrance hall, Mrs Jones leading the way with a gas lamp in hand. “I don’t remember the last time the front lawns looked so well kept.”</p><p>“We have a new gardener, sir.” Mrs Jones glanced at Grant, her smile warm. “A young man, but very talented. He’ll be pleased to hear you noticed.” </p><p>Grant opened his mouth to ask what had happened to their old gardener, but then he realised that was ridiculous. Hamish had been an old man when Grant was a child, undoubtedly he had moved on - either to retire or <i>to the other side</i>, and doubtless there would be mention of it in one of the letters Mrs Jones had been sending him whilst he’d been away to keep him abreast of the situation at home. Honestly he’d only ever skimmed over them. He hadn’t expected his father to die so soon; but apparently he was the only one.</p><p>As for the gardens, they had been in a poor state for years. Hamish couldn’t keep on top of them alone, and refused all offers of help. </p><p>“I’ll take a proper look tomorrow.” Grant did enjoy beautifully kept estates. He had visited many in England whilst living in London, and he was curious to see how their own gardens were keeping up now they had fresh blood taking care of them. </p><p>“I will let Mr Way know.” Mrs Jones took Grant to his room when he decided to eat there. She entered with him just to light the lamps and turn down the bed, and then promised to have warm water brought up with his dinner so he could wash up. </p><p>“We’re all glad to see you home sir.” She said earnestly, with so much warmth that Grant simply didn’t know how to  respond. He looked at Mrs Jones in surprise, but she just nodded at him and walked away, humming quietly to herself.</p><p>Grant walked to the window, but the darkness outside was so absolute that all he could see was his own reflection in the glass. He stood there for a while all the same, lost in thought. He had spent years away from this place, pursuing a career in writing and making quite the name for himself; he had met so many fascinating people and had so many experiences - many of which would make his dear old housekeeper keel over if she knew of them - and to be back here again made him feel melancholy. He loved the staff and he had many fond memories in this house, but there wasn’t really anything here for him. He couldn’t bear the thought of wasting away, all alone, in the Scottish highlands as his father had done… and his grandfather and his great grandfather and his great, great grandfather…</p><p>When his supper arrived, Grant sat at his desk and ate the stew of root vegetables, then he retired to bed where he lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft sounds of the house that he had almost forgotten. Wooden beams creaked as they expanded, and the wind howled outside, and through it all Grant desperately missed the city. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Morning brought with it a dull, grey sky that did nothing to improve Grant’s mood. He ate his breakfast of kedgeree alone in the morning room, looking critically at a corner of wallpaper that was starting to peel away from the wall. With just the servants living in the house, most of the rooms had been shut up, and already Mrs Jones had made several comments about how nice it would be to have visitors again or, even better, a family to tend over.</p><p>“I have no intentions of marrying just yet Mrs Jones.” Grant told her as she cleared his breakfast things away. </p><p>“You’re not getting any younger.” The old lady reminded him coolly, giving him a warning look. “Soon enough no young ladies will look twice at you. You need to throw some dinner parties and a ball or two. You’ll soon meet some pretty lass to fall in love with.”</p><p>Grant couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head fondly. “Mrs Jones, as ever, you are a delight.” He brushed a kiss to her cheek as he walked past her. “I’m going to take a walk around the gardens now. Will you have Willie take a look at the wallpaper there?” He indicated the peeling corner and took advantage of Mrs Jones’ distraction to slip away.</p><p>Outside, the day was not as cool as it looked from inside. The sky was grey, but the low clouds kept the air relatively warm and Grant left his coat unbuttoned as he set off down the nearest path. He had already heard that Mr Way was tending the walled garden today, so he went in the opposite direction so he could build an idea of the man’s work before meeting him.</p><p>Grant wasn’t sure how long Mr Way had been in his employ, but it must have been a while. The lavender garden was lush and beautiful, so densely sown that even in the dim weather the smell of the herb was strong. Grant paused to admire it, looking around with a soft smile and brushing his fingers over the lilac tips of the plant. Some of his melancholy began to lift and he moved on with a slowly growing smile.</p><p>The perfume garden, which had been overgrown when Grant had last visited, had now all been cut back and resown so that there were just neatly lined flower beds where there had once been weeds and wildflowers. Only a few flowers had blossomed, including a pink dianthus and the first few buds of a rose bush. But the pride and joy of the garden was a katsura tree that now stood out in it’s freshly cleared space. Grant had always liked the tree; in the autumn it gave off a sweet, sugary scent and the leaves turned a buttery gold colour. Just like him, the tree had grown a lot since he’d last taken the time to admire it.</p><p>Grant moved on, heading excitedly to the water garden that made a statement piece of the stream that ran through the estate. When he arrived, he was surprised to discover a large pond that was so seamlessly integrated into the garden that he half wondered if it had always been there and he had simply forgotten.</p><p>An arched, wooden bridge overlooked the pond and Grant stepped onto it to take a closer look. The pond water was too clear for it to be anything but relatively new, but it looked so natural it took his breath away. Lily pads floated on its surface, and various marsh grasses grew around the edges, giving plenty of cover for patches of frogspawn. </p><p>The rest of the garden had been neatened so that the plants and flowers created clear pathways around the stream. A few statues and water features kept the space interesting, and Grant noticed that several lovers benches had been put in around some of the bigger features. The garden was close enough to the house to be the perfect spot for a romantic break from any balls in the evenings. Couples could come and find a secret spot to sit in together, especially on clear nights when the stars and moon would dapple the water all around.</p><p>Grant was starting to suspect that Mr Way must be a romantic, and his smile grew even more. The estate had never looked better, and Grant appreciated the attention to detail that he was seeing. It seemed mildly useless, considering there had been no parties or guests for so long, but it gave an air of hope. Grant didn’t believe in letting the house fall into wreck and ruin, and maybe he would throw a little party before leaving… since so much hard work had gone into the gardens. </p><p>The rest of his walk was just as enjoyable, but Grant walked with intent now. He was building an idea of what Mr Way would be like, and he was eager to see if he was right. He pictured a middle-aged man, muscular from his work in the gardens but probably still a little soft around the middle, and bearded. Grant wasn’t sure why but he was certain he would be bearded. And he probably had the gentle, blue-eyed gaze of a true romantic-at-heart. Surely he would have a wife, but if not, he had to be the sort who ached to marry and have a brood of children.</p><p>When Grant finally reached the walled garden he came across one of the young women from the night before gathering vegetables. She introduced herself to him and curtsied, and Grant had to laughingly remind her that he wasn’t royalty. </p><p>“Is Mr Way around?” He asked her, peering about but seeing no one. “The gardener?”</p><p>“Oh yes sir,” the girl turned and pointed to the far end of the garden, “he’s planting seeds in the pumpkin patch.” </p><p>“Thank you.” Grant smiled at her and set off, looking around with joy. Everything was in its usual spot, as he remembered from childhood. The walled garden was purely functional, and as such used all the time and the most well-looked after area of the gardens. Even so, it did look neater and better kept than usual, all of the produce growing well and clearly labelled.</p><p>The pumpkin patch took up the entire back area of the garden, where the wall would shield them from the wind but the sun would find them well in the afternoon. A shovel was standing straight up in the dirt, but Grant didn’t see Mr Way until he was much closer.</p><p>As he came to the end of the path and opened his mouth to say hello, spotting the man at last. He was hunched low in the dirt, ever so carefully planting a juvenile pumpkin plant in a hole that had been marked with a stake. Grant waited for him to lower the plant down and start moving the soil back over it before he spoke. </p><p>“Good morning, Mr Way?” He spoke a little louder than necessary, to make sure he would be heard. </p><p>Mr Way jumped in surprise, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes. When he saw Grant, in his freshly polished boots and expensive coat, he hurried up to his feet and turned to smile at him, holding his hand out to shake. </p><p>“You must be Lord Morrison.” He beamed, his hazel eyes shining even in the grey light of the day. </p><p>Grant opened his mouth but nothing came out, making him look quite like a captured fish as he stood gaping at the young man who was apparently his head gardener. </p><p>Mr Way was <i>not</i> like Grant had imagined. He was far younger than he had expected, for one thing, and most definitely clean shaven for another. He had black hair that he had pinned away from his face with what looked like a clothes peg, and he was wearing a dirty brown shirt that gaped open at the neck, the ties undone. He wore no jacket, and his trousers were worn and patched, though they couldn’t be well seen because of the knee-high wellington boots that covered them.</p><p>Mr Way’s hands were covered in thick suede gloves, which he glanced at when Grant didn’t take his hand. “Oh, I apologise!” He gasped, rushing to remove one soiled glove before he offered his hand again.</p><p>It was just enough to snap Grant out of his stupor and he hurriedly clasped Mr Way’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Please, call me Grant.” He said quickly, remembering how to speak at last. “Lord Morrison makes me sound like my father.”</p><p>“And Mr Way sounds like mine. I’m Gerard.” Mr Way - Gerard - chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”</p><p>“The pleasure is all mine.” Grant insisted, with just a bit too much feeling. Gerard looked confused for a moment,  but he quickly wiped the look away and just went on smiling. </p><p>“I’ve just been taking a walk around the estate,” Grant went on quickly, trying to remember how to be charming - people <i>always</i> said he was charming, but right then he just felt foolish; “it looks like you’ve been doing some fantastic work. The water garden is especially beautiful.”</p><p>Gerard’s cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink and Grant went hot all over. His mind strayed without his permission to wonder whether Gerard’s pale skin would go similarly pink all over if given the right stimulus. </p><p>“Thank you sir.” Gerard looked pleased, if a little bashful. “Landscaping is my passion.” </p><p>Grant waited, but Gerard was already pulling his glove back on and angling his body back towards the pumpkin patch. Apparently, he knew the golden rule that any good servant knew - speak only when spoken to and keep your words brief. Grant’s father would have decided in that moment that Mr Way was a very welcome addition to the household… but Grant was left aching for more. He wanted to ask Gerard when he had first discovered his love for horticulture, and how he had amassed such skill by such a young age - the man couldn’t possibly be any older than thirty.</p><p>He also wanted to ask how long he had been in his employ, but Grant was too embarrassed to since he ought to know that already. He wanted to ask Gerard if he was married, if he had children, or if he was somehow, blessedly single… </p><p>“I ought to get back to work now.” Gerard said slowly, his eyes questioning when Grant didn’t immediately turn to leave. “These young plants are at a delicate stage, they need my attention…”</p><p>“Of course.” Grant gasped, mortified at the thought of ruining Gerard’s pumpkins by being too needy. “I shall leave you to it.” He tipped an invisible cap at Gerard and spun on his heel, marching away without looking back when he felt a blush burning across his own cheeks.</p><p>Gerard watched him go, his head cocked to one side and a curious smile tugging at his lips. His pulse was racing, but he ignored it, turning back to his plants with a long sigh. He had been told that Lord Morrison was a quiet man who kept himself to himself, and he’d expected someone intimidating. No one had thought to mention that the man was so <i>handsome</i>.</p><p> </p><p>As Grant walked back to the house he bypassed the small cottage that was usually given to the gardener. He paused, hesitated, and looked around. Nobody was about so he dared to walk to the front door and knock. </p><p>As he waited for a response, he could feel his heart thumping in his throat. His hands were sweating, and with each second that passed he expected some beautiful young woman to come to the door. When that didn’t happen, he knocked again, louder this time, but still there was no response.</p><p>With one final look around, Grant edged to the side and peeked in through the lower window. Inside, the cottage was very much lived in - with a plate and teacup left out on the kitchen table from breakfast (just <i>one</i> plate and teacup, Grant immediately noted), and an armchair pulled right close to the fire, with a little side table beside it. On the table was an open book, left upside down so that Gerard wouldn’t lose his place. There was a vase of fresh cut flowers on the mantelpiece, beautifully arranged, but the rest of the space, whilst clean, was not entirely neat or tidy. </p><p>Clearly, no housewife lived here, and if there were any children to speak of then they and their possessions were invisible. But someone <i>did</i> live here, and with it being the gardeners cottage… </p><p>Grant walked away, feeling both elated and ashamed of himself. Gerard clearly lived on site, but without a family. He must be single, and apparently committed enough to his job to live alone on the estate where he was unlikely to meet anyone. That thought shouldn’t have made Grant so happy, but he could feel himself glowing with the knowledge, even as guilt soured his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>Grant returned to the house and tried to occupy himself by walking about the rooms and making a list of jobs that needed overseeing. The house was in relatively good condition, all things considered, with no major problems to worry about.</p><p>By late afternoon, Grant sat at his writing desk in his room and tried to put pen to paper. He gazed out of the window, trying to stop his mind from replaying his meeting with Gerard over and over again, but only resulted in distracting himself even more when he spotted the man himself outside.</p><p>Grant’s bedroom overlooked the east side of the house, with a beautiful view of the mountains beyond. Gerard was down below, pushing a wheelbarrow to the greenhouses that were kept out of sight of the main gardens. </p><p>Grant leaned forward, drawn like a moth to flame, and watched with racing heart as Gerard paused to wipe some sweat from his brow with the back of his dirty glove. Grant couldn’t see it, but he could imagine the smear of soil that he had left on his forehead, and something about that made his stomach clench pleasantly. </p><p>Oblivious to his secret admirer, Gerard grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and hoisted it up, continuing on his way to the greenhouses. He walked through the door of the nearest one, <i>but damn the dirty glass</i> Grant couldn’t see him once he was inside.</p><p>For a while, Grant went on looking anyway, hoping Gerard would appear again. When he didn’t, Grant sighed and flopped back in his chair, his legs spread out long before him and a frown on his face. He couldn’t stop <i>thinking</i> about him; of the way he had smiled when he had turned to face him, his hazel eyes so bright and full of intelligence and <i>life</i>.</p><p>Grant’s abdomen clenched and his hand drifted down without him really thinking about it. It had been such a long time since any person had turned his head quite like Gerard Way had done, and <i>never</i> so quickly. The attraction he felt towards Gerard had been instant, and it was terrifying as it was exciting.</p><p>Grant’s fingers drifted along his inner thigh, his pulse quickening as he realised what he was doing. He half wondered whether he was even interested in that right now, but as soon as he cupped his hand between his legs he could feel himself puffing up. He gave a gentle squeeze, feeling out the shape of his length in his trousers and making his breath hitch when he stiffened quickly in response. </p><p>With all the travelling it had taken to get here, and with how exhausted he’d been the night before, it had been a while since he’d last touched himself. It had been far longer since he’d last taken a person to bed, and he’d given no thought to it happening any time soon - after all, who could there possibly be in this place, in the middle of nowhere, to make love to? </p><p>Grant almost laughed at the terrible predicament he found himself in. London had allowed him to be as sexually liberated as he wanted, with no shortage of women <i>or</i> men who were willing to sleep with him. In fact, he’d had quite the entourage of admirers, and sometimes he took three or even four of them to bed with him in one exquisite night. </p><p>Grant rubbed his palm over his growing erection and had to bite his lip to stop himself from making a sound. He was almost certain no one was around this part of the house to hear him, but it felt wrong to make a noise when he was here, in his family home, rubbing at his cock and thinking about the gardener, of all people.</p><p>God, that <i>man</i>. Grant tipped his head back and squeezed himself again, his shaft swelling eagerly under the pressure. He’d had sex with so many people and in all variety of ways, how was it possible that just the sight of those hazel eyes and the tempting, almost sinful glimpse of pale collarbone was making him this weak? Already his mouth was watering, desperate to sink his teeth into the soft flesh where the clavicle dipped. He wanted to fill that space with honey and lick it away, and trail his tongue all the way up that long, beautiful throat, to take Gerard’s lips in a kiss so deep they could suffocate from it. </p><p>Grant was really warming up now, his cock straining his trousers. He let go and used both hands to open up the ties, rushing at first but then slowing down as the lace moved aside and he was able to pull his cock free. He kept his head back and his eyes closed, just feeling it out as he wrapped his fingers around himself and gently eased the foreskin all the way back from the glans.</p><p>A soft, barely audible sound escaped Grant’s lips, his cock jumping up towards his stomach. Pleasure was making his balls grow tight, and his pulse made his erection feel like it was throbbing. He circled his fingers around the crown and massaged the sensitive space between shaft and glans, taking his time with it. </p><p>Usually, masturbation was quick and perfunctory, just before sleeping or first thing in the morning. Now though, Grant wanted to draw it out and make it last, lest it not be enough to dampen his lust properly. He was determined he would talk to Gerard again - properly this time - and he had to be better in control when he did. </p><p>Thinking about the way he had flustered and blushed earlier almost put out the flame of his arousal, but Grant quickly fired it up again by thinking of the way Gerard had removed his gardener's glove to shake his hand. His palm had been lightly calloused from hard work, but Grant had noticed that the back of Gerard’s hand was soft and smooth. It was a delightful contrast, and he imagined how it would feel to have him touch him… perhaps he could brush the back of his hand along Grant’s cheek when they made love… and then he could grab at him with his rough palms when they fucked. Ordinarily, Grant liked to be on top, but just thinking of those work-weary hands grabbing at his hips to pull him back into hard, all-consuming thrusts was making him drip. </p><p>He wondered if Gerard had ever had a man before… It didn’t make much difference either way. Grant had seduced all kinds of men in his life and he was determined he would seduce Gerard too. Oh and there was so much he could teach him… he wanted to get between those legs and put his mouth on Gerard; wanted to suck him until he cried; wanted to feel his hot release on his tongue and his lips and striped across his cheeks.</p><p>Grant’s hips bucked up of their own accord and a low, breathless hiss escaped his teeth as he wrapped his fingers properly around himself. He swiped his thumb across his tip to gather the preejaculate that had built there, then spread it down his shaft. It wasn’t quite enough to get him as slick as he wanted, so he let go just long enough to spit into his palm, and then he grabbed himself again.</p><p>Spit would not do with Gerard, he decided, as he began to pump his hand slowly along his length. No… For Gerard he would use the finest of oil. He would drip it all over his body, to make his skin glow like moonlight, and then he’d slick his palm with it to make his grip nice and wet when he took Gerard in hand. </p><p>If Gerard liked women, Grant knew a trick or two. He could pour oil on his inner thighs and then press them together; give Gerard something soft and wet and warm to press into. Unless he was man enough to take Grant properly, and really, didn’t both options just sound wonderful? </p><p>Grant moaned quietly to himself, the sound feeling extra loud in the silence of his room. It made his cheeks go red and he pressed the knuckles of his free hand between his teeth, trying to keep himself quiet as he jerked his fist quicker and made pleasure sear through him like a hot poker.</p><p>Just thinking about Gerard fucking him was making his hole clench, a sure sign that he was doomed. He didn’t often feel the need, but right then he would have gladly given Gerard just about anything, and he barely even knew the man. </p><p>Grant tried to redirect his fantasies, to imagine himself fucking Gerard instead. Oh and wasn’t that sweet also? He bit down harder on his knuckles and tightened his grip, stroking himself firmly, just the way he liked, as he imagined himself pressing deep into Gerard. He wondered if he was the sort of man who’d like it on his back, legs thrown up over Grant’s shoulders, so they could look at one another and kiss all the while they were joined.</p><p>Or, perhaps he liked it on his knees, with his ass in the air and legs spread to get Grant as deep as possible. Grant grunted quietly as he imagined arching over him, one arm reached around to jerk him as he fucked him, bodies so close that their skin slapped with each thrust.</p><p>Or, perhaps Gerard was the rare kind of man who liked to pin Grant down and ride him from above. He imagined lying back on his bed, staring up at Gerard, still dirty from the garden with soil smeared on his forehead, his hard cock bouncing as he rode him. It was such a wonderful thought that Grant’s own erection suddenly twitched, and a large pulse of ejaculate wept down his length. He was so close now he could taste it on the back of his tongue, his balls drawn up tight with the need to come.</p><p>Grant pushed his chair back suddenly, desperate to get his legs even wider. He kicked his trousers off completely and leaned back to plant one foot up on his desk. His mind was skimming over all manner of fantasies, and he was so close he felt almost panicked by it. He was at that point where orgasm seemed inevitable and yet so far away at the same time, his entire body tensing with it’s approach.</p><p>Without thinking, Grant moved his knuckles out of his mouth and sucked in his index finger instead. He slumped lower in his chair, the back of his thigh burning from the stretch as he flattened his one foot against the desk and opened himself up wide.</p><p>He imagined Gerard at his feet, kneeling beneath the desk so he could play with his cock, hidden from sight. He could almost feel his mouth around him, could imagine the playful glimmer in his eyes… </p><p>Grant reached down with his other hand, his head back and throat strained from the effort of keeping in his moans. He imagined Gerard rising to his feet, naked and more beautiful than any Greek sculpture; imagined him stroking a cock that would be perfect in every way, no matter its shape or its length or its girth, it would surely be perfect. And Grant could feel it now - his toes curling and his spine starting to arch as he pressed his slick finger to his hole - he could feel Gerard pressing into him, opening him up, waking up nerves that had been asleep for a long time.</p><p>Without oil Grant could only get the tip of his finger inside, but it was enough. He came with a low cry, forgetting to silence himself as his orgasm swelled in him to an overwhelming pitch. His muscles clenched and spasmed around the tip of his finger, and his cock throbbed in his fist. The first rope of his ejaculate whipped across his shirt, but Grant didn’t have a hand free to lift it. He sobbed quietly, trying to both thrust his hips and bear down at the same time, milking his orgasm for all it was worth. </p><p>By the time he could feel the sparkling pleasure simmer down to a gentle buzz across the skin, his shirt was ruined and the last weak pulses slicked his knuckles with come. Grant went on stroking himself with it, enjoying the silkyness of his movements now his palm was so wet, but gradually oversensitivity took over and he had to admit defeat. </p><p>His cheeks flamed as he pulled his finger away from himself, and guilt surged in to replace the void that desperate pleasure had left. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to finger himself, and it left him feeling almost ashamed. </p><p>Grant stood and moved away from the window quickly, going to his washstand to clean up. The water in the basin was cold, but it helped soothe his skin which was burning all over with a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. As soon as he was clean, Grant grabbed his trousers and re-dressed in a hurry, as if covering himself up would mean nothing had ever happened.</p><p>He sat back down slowly, his heart racing so fast he could hear it in his ears. His stomach was clenching uncomfortably, and he found himself thinking about how he must easily be two decades older than Gerard - <i>certainly</i> old enough to know better. He was certain that no men his age found themselves masturbating in an afternoon over a secret infatuation; and he was also certain that if Gerard ever knew about it, then the knowledge would not be welcome. </p><p>Grant groaned quietly and leaned forward to open the window, feeling hot and bothered. As he did so, he looked down and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw Gerard leaving the greenhouse, without his wheelbarrow this time. </p><p>There was no sunset as such, not with the clouds as thick as they were, but evening was on its way. Gerard looked like he must be done for the day, his hands gloveless now. He reached up to remove the peg from his hair, letting it fall forward in a dark curtain around his cheeks, and Grant’s stomach clenched with another pang of arousal. His guilt tripled in intensity, and a cold sweat pricked the back of his neck. The safest option, he decided, was surely to get away from this place as quickly as possible.</p><p> </p><p>By the end of the week, Grant had written a letter to his agent in London informing him that he intended to see the rest of the year in Scotland. The decision, which he had only made that morning, was helped along greatly by Gerard, who had spotted Grant wandering about the gardens and had come over to say hello.</p><p>This time, Grant was able to create a real conversation. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, because the whole time he’d been laughing and talking with Gerard, another part of him had been going over all the filthy daydreams he’d been having about him all week. Luckily, it was a warm day, and Grant hoped that if Gerard saw any blushing, then he’d just put it down to the sun.</p><p>By the afternoon, Grant had plucked up the courage to approach Gerard again and casually ask him when he planned to stop for lunch. Gerard had turned to look at Grant, wiping the sweat from his brow as he leaned against the handle of his shovel. </p><p>“Uh… Probably about now.” He’d shrugged, inclining his head towards a little metal lock box. “I brought sandwiches.” </p><p>Grant opened his mouth and then paused. He’d been hoping to ask Gerard to join him for lunch in the house, but it suddenly seemed a stupid idea. How could he ask him without it seeming strange? As he agonised over it, Gerard cocked his head at him and smiled curiously. </p><p>“I have enough for two.” He said softly, with a little twinkle in his eye. “If you’d like to join me?”</p><p>Grant’s enthusiasm had been a little obvious, to say the least, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind. He’d smiled warmly at him in return and encouraged Grant to sit down on the grass with him and share his sandwiches.</p><p>Grant had dined in some of the finest restaurants in London, and had attended more dinner parties than he could rightly remember. But as he sat in the sun with Gerard that afternoon, talking around mouthfuls of bread and soft cheese, he realised he had never had a better meal in all his life. And when he sent off his letter that evening, and then walked downstairs to let Mrs Jones know he intended to be around for a good long while yet, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.</p>
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